Page 32 of Monk
“Seriously… have you been stalking me? How could you possibly know that?”
“Tan line around your ring finger,” he replies as he points at my hand.
I smile at her ruefully and pull hard on the end of my ponytail. Walked right into that one.
“Brownie points for being observant,” I spit, trying to save a little face.
“Had to be when I was in Afghanistan,” he replies. “If I wasn’t observant, I would’ve ended up dead.”
I don’t know if he mentioned being in Afghanistan to try and drum up a little sympathy with me, or just as a statement of fact. Looking at his cold, emotionless face, I decide it’s the latter. Judging by the way he’s looking at me, I think sympathy is the last thing he wants from me. That, of course, raises the real question in my mind.
“So, what do you want, Jacob? Why did you go to all the trouble of tracking me down here?”
“Wasn’t all that much trouble—”
“Stop it. Just stop it,” I hiss. “I don’t want to hear your little jokes. Don’t want to hear your cute, snappy little retorts. Get to the point. What in the hell do you want from me?”
“I wanted to talk. I wanted to… explain,” he says.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”
He shrugs. “If it’s a little late for me to offer an explanation, then it was a little late when you asked me for an explanation yesterday, don’t you think?”
I bite back the scream that’s bubbling up in my throat. Jacob is beyond frustrating. He’s always been able to turn my logic back around on me—he’s been doing it since we were kids—and it drives me absolutely nuts as much now as it did back then, maybe even more so.
“Fine. So, explain yourself,” I say, my voice thick with exasperation.
“I was hoping we could do it somewhere a little more… civilized.”
He’s dressed in blue jeans, black harness boots, a black t-shirt, and his leather biker vest—looking like he’s just walked off the set of Sons of Anarchy—and he’s talking about being civilized?
“What’s wrong with talking here?” I ask.
“Because I’m pretty sure your legs are about to start cramping up somethin’ fierce and you’re not going to be in any condition to talk. And there’s a lot that needs to be said.”
My head is spinning, and it feels like the world is tilting on its axis right now. To go from being completely ghosted more than a decade ago, being bitter as hell about it all this time, to now having him not only drop back into my life but asking me to have coffee with him? It’s surreal.
I will have to say that he is right about one thing, though. There is a lot to be said. Or more specifically, I have a lot to say. This chance probably isn’t going to come around again if I don’t seize it. And it will be nice to be able to unleash my screed when I’m not in as much agony as I’m in right now.
“Fine. But let me make it perfectly clear. I’m going to talk. You’re going to shut up and listen. I don’t want to hear your sarcasm and I don’t want to hear your snark. Understand?” I say.
He nods. “Understood.”
“Fine. Give me your number and I’ll text you the details.”
He takes my phone and puts his information in for me, then hands it back. He gets to his feet and gives me a nod, then turns and starts to head off. He takes a few steps away then turns back.
“Why don’t I give you a ride back to your place?” he offers.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Really? Because I can tell you’ve been sitting there trying to not scream this whole time. You sure you want to take that walk back home? It’s what, five miles or so from here?”
As if responding to his voice—and betraying me—my thighs start to twitch, sending a jolt of pain through me. Yeah, the cramping is coming, and it’s probably not a good idea to let my pride get in the way. No matter how angry I am.
“Fine. Thank you,” I say.
He laughs softly to himself and steps back, helping me to my feet. Jacob paces me as he leads me over to his bike, handing me a spare helmet he keeps in his saddlebag. After buckling it on, throwing my leg over the bike is an exercise in agony. Jacob is doing his best to avoid laughing, and I feel like slapping that smirk off his face.
